The Voice of the Waves Underneath the water, all was quiet. The reverberations in Ronan's ears of the currents moving around her were almost a lullaby. When her mother first left, the girl used to go deep into the sea and stay underwater for as long as she could hold her breath, and pretend the bubbling was her mother singing. Lá na maraLá na mara nó rabhartaGuth na dtonnta a leanadhGuth na dtonnta a leanfad ó Ronan floated under the water, suspended deep beneath the waves. The salt never burned her eyes, but she let them gently close and felt the pressure of the water wrap around her. Despite her youth, she could hold her breath longer than any professional swimmer. Her selkie blood split her home, made her as much a part of these salty depths as the flesh from her father kept her from straying too long from shore.
Amhrán na farraige Ór are na seolta Amhrán na farraige Ag seoladh na bhfonnta
She opened her eyes again. A few fish circled her; she felt one graze against her scalp as it swam through the floating tendrils of her curls. Ronan could feel the heaviness of her clothes pulling her gently lower, a sign that her lungs were reaching their limit. The fish brushed past her freckled knuckles a final time before she swam upwards. She broke the surface and felt the breeze on her cheeks again. The air felt so much colder than the water, even though she knew the opposite was true in the late summer evening. Her t-shirt stuck to her shoulders and her curls, soaked with the lake water, hung in her eyes. She ran her hand over her face to push them past her forehead, and the waves lapped against her earlobes, singing her mother’s farewell. 'Sé mo laoch mo ghile mear'Sé mo Shéasar, gile mearSuan gan séan ní bhfuair mé féinÓ chuaigh I gcéin mo ghile mear It took Ronan a moment to remember she was in Bras D’Or Lake, and not the sea near her house. She didn’t often swim here because it was a bit far from the cottage, but she was staying with the McKellan’s while her father lectured in Toronto. He had already been gone a week, and it’d be a few more days until he was home, and she was beginning to miss him a lot. He was absent-minded and a bad cook, but without him around whistling songs from commercials and leaving his lecture notes everywhere, the cottage felt cold and empty. Ronan leaned backwards until the water carried her, pushing her slowly towards one of the islands.
“Hey... Hey!!” a voice yelled from the shore. The water that filled Ronan’s ears muffled the shout, but her sharpened hearing picked up on the panic. She pushed herself upright a bit too quickly and swallowed a mouthful of saltwater. She coughed, her eyes tearing up slightly. She could make out a figure on the shore standing near her bike and her shoes. Treading water was a little difficult with the coughing fit, but her vision slowly cleared enough to see a man she didn’t recognize; she’d think he was her dad but he was too short and his voice was completely different, high pitched and a little smokey.
“Don’t… Don’t worry! I’m gonna come get you!” the man shouted from cupped hands. She put together the pieces: the abandoned bike and shoes, the overcast day, the weird girl floating in the middle of the lake. He must’ve thought some idiot kid up and drowned themselves, she realized.
“Stop! It’s fine, I’m okay!” she shouted back, waving her hand to get his attention. The man was in the middle of pulling off his shoes when he looked back up at her. “I’ll come back, hold on!” Ronan dove under the water again and swam towards the shore. The water streamed around her, too quickly to hear any more of the song. The sand rose back up towards her and she pushed herself up to stand in the now waist-deep water. The man yelped, dropping his shoe. He pointed to where she had been floating a minute ago and towards where she stood now, his mouth hanging open.
“I...I… and you…? What the hell?” the man trailed off. His hand fell to his side and he collapsed on the shore. Ronan snorted a little at the amounts of sand clinging to his bare sock and slacks. He held his face in hands and looked blankly towards the lake. His scuffed leather loafer was lodged in the sand beside him. “I get off work and I drive past a kid’s bike but no kid, then there’s someone maybe drowning, and now there’s a kid, and this island is so fucking weird,” the man muttered quietly to himself. The young girl took the time of his introspection to study the man. He was a bit younger than her dad, wearing a slightly ill-fitting white button down and black slacks. A name tag pinned crookedly on his shirt pocket read “Nathan Holt”. Ronan noticed the smudges of black on his cheek and the collar of his shirt.
“Were you up at the coal mine?” she asked. She had since walked ashore, and stood next to the man. Water streamed from her hair down her back, and her t-shirt and shorts were soaked. Mrs. McKellan was going to have a ball fussing over her when she got back. The man looked up at her and stuttered out a yes, and Ronan nodded back knowingly. If he worked up at the coal field then he had to have been transferred recently. She guessed he’d been on the island for a year, two years max. Nathan stared confused back up at her as Ronan kept nodding, before she walked towards her bike, and knelt down to pull her balled-up socks out from her canvas shoes. The sand and wet socks wasn’t a welcome sensation, but she’d bear it for the fifteen minute bike ride back to the McKellan’s. As she tied up her laces, she said, “I’m gonna guess you don’t have much experience with the fae and stuff, but you’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re tougher than we look.” She stood up again and brushed the sand from her clothes, or tried to at least, for it clung fast to soaked fabric.
“Oh, no - sorry I didn’t realize - I guess I just thought a fae would be, y’know, more impressive looking? All magic and shit?” Nathan said.
Ronan stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m only half, stupid,” she said, “and selkies don’t glow or anything, so.” She looked pretty normal, all things considered. Crazy, from the wet clothes and mass of brown curls that was starting to frizz out from the saltwater, but she was average height for a twelve year old and her light brown skin, covered with freckles and patches of vitiligo, didn’t stand out as much in comparison to some of the vibrant colors of other half-fae children. She pulled her bike upright and started to push it through the sand. The man clambered after her. “Wait! That’s not what I meant. It’s just, y’know, this place is pretty unique. I’m not used to it yet.” Nathan looked sheepishly at Ronan, and she stopped. The wind was picking up and her hair ruffled, bringing back the comforting smell of the salt.
“You’re forgetting your shoe,” she said, pointing back to where he had been sitting. He spun around and ran to rescue it from the rising tide, slowly moving closer to where it had been laying. He walked back over to her, still clutching it in his hands with no move to put it back on. They stood on the sandy hill for a moment, and the wind whistled around them. Ronan heard bird calls above them and looked up to see a flock flying in a V-shape away from the darkening clouds. “Do you think you can give me a ride home?” she asked, “it looks like it’s going to rain, and I’m wet enough as it is.”
A small laugh bubbled out of Nathan like a hiccup, and Ronan snickered at his embarrassed expression. He followed her the rest of the way up the hill, his feet sliding a little in the patches of sand between the increasing grass. His car was parked crookedly at the top; he must’ve pulled in as soon as he thought a kid was in trouble. Ronan had to admit, she was a little touched on behalf of all the kids out there. By the time they got her bike into the backseat of his station wagon, it had started to drizzle. The beige interior of his car had a musty smoke smell Ronan imagined as what coal smelled like. The water on her clothes soaked into the car seat, and she started to apologize but Nathan waved it away. She gave him directions to the McKellan’s house, and they drove in silence for a few minutes until Nathan started laughing to himself. Ronan looked over at him with an eyebrow raised, and he coughed to stifle it.
“Sorry, it’s nothing,” he said, “I just realized I’m never gonna get used to this circus of an island.” He looked over at her with an awkward smile, and Ronan grinned back.
“This isn’t even the weirdest thing that could happen to you,” she said.
“Don’t remind me,” he groaned, “what am I going to do when I meet a kid who actually glows?” Ronan laughed. The windshield wipers of the station wagon were moving faster now to keep up with the rain.
“So if you haven’t been on the island that long,” she said, “does that mean you haven’t heard the tale of the One String Bass?” When the man shook his head, Ronan smiled brightly and launched into the story of the GlamStranaughts and their ascended bassist.
Underneath the water, all was quiet. The reverberations in Ronan's ears of the currents moving around her were almost a lullaby. When her mother first left, the girl used to go deep into the sea and stay underwater for as long as she could hold her breath, and pretend the bubbling was her mother singing.
Lá na maraLá na mara nó rabhartaGuth na dtonnta a leanadhGuth na dtonnta a leanfad ó
Ronan floated under the water, suspended deep beneath the waves. The salt never burned her eyes, but she let them gently close and felt the pressure of the water wrap around her. Despite her youth, she could hold her breath longer than any professional swimmer. Her selkie blood split her home, made her as much a part of these salty depths as the flesh from her father kept her from straying too long from shore.
Amhrán na farraige
Ór are na seolta
Amhrán na farraige
Ag seoladh na bhfonnta
She opened her eyes again. A few fish circled her; she felt one graze against her scalp as it swam through the floating tendrils of her curls. Ronan could feel the heaviness of her clothes pulling her gently lower, a sign that her lungs were reaching their limit. The fish brushed past her freckled knuckles a final time before she swam upwards. She broke the surface and felt the breeze on her cheeks again. The air felt so much colder than the water, even though she knew the opposite was true in the late summer evening. Her t-shirt stuck to her shoulders and her curls, soaked with the lake water, hung in her eyes. She ran her hand over her face to push them past her forehead, and the waves lapped against her earlobes, singing her mother’s farewell.
'Sé mo laoch mo ghile mear'Sé mo Shéasar, gile mearSuan gan séan ní bhfuair mé féinÓ chuaigh I gcéin mo ghile mear
It took Ronan a moment to remember she was in Bras D’Or Lake, and not the sea near her house. She didn’t often swim here because it was a bit far from the cottage, but she was staying with the McKellan’s while her father lectured in Toronto. He had already been gone a week, and it’d be a few more days until he was home, and she was beginning to miss him a lot. He was absent-minded and a bad cook, but without him around whistling songs from commercials and leaving his lecture notes everywhere, the cottage felt cold and empty. Ronan leaned backwards until the water carried her, pushing her slowly towards one of the islands.
“Hey... Hey!!” a voice yelled from the shore. The water that filled Ronan’s ears muffled the shout, but her sharpened hearing picked up on the panic. She pushed herself upright a bit too quickly and swallowed a mouthful of saltwater. She coughed, her eyes tearing up slightly. She could make out a figure on the shore standing near her bike and her shoes. Treading water was a little difficult with the coughing fit, but her vision slowly cleared enough to see a man she didn’t recognize; she’d think he was her dad but he was too short and his voice was completely different, high pitched and a little smokey.
“Don’t… Don’t worry! I’m gonna come get you!” the man shouted from cupped hands. She put together the pieces: the abandoned bike and shoes, the overcast day, the weird girl floating in the middle of the lake. He must’ve thought some idiot kid up and drowned themselves, she realized.
“Stop! It’s fine, I’m okay!” she shouted back, waving her hand to get his attention. The man was in the middle of pulling off his shoes when he looked back up at her. “I’ll come back, hold on!” Ronan dove under the water again and swam towards the shore. The water streamed around her, too quickly to hear any more of the song. The sand rose back up towards her and she pushed herself up to stand in the now waist-deep water. The man yelped, dropping his shoe. He pointed to where she had been floating a minute ago and towards where she stood now, his mouth hanging open.
“I...I… and you…? What the hell?” the man trailed off. His hand fell to his side and he collapsed on the shore. Ronan snorted a little at the amounts of sand clinging to his bare sock and slacks. He held his face in hands and looked blankly towards the lake. His scuffed leather loafer was lodged in the sand beside him. “I get off work and I drive past a kid’s bike but no kid, then there’s someone maybe drowning, and now there’s a kid, and this island is so fucking weird,” the man muttered quietly to himself. The young girl took the time of his introspection to study the man. He was a bit younger than her dad, wearing a slightly ill-fitting white button down and black slacks. A name tag pinned crookedly on his shirt pocket read “Nathan Holt”. Ronan noticed the smudges of black on his cheek and the collar of his shirt.
“Were you up at the coal mine?” she asked. She had since walked ashore, and stood next to the man. Water streamed from her hair down her back, and her t-shirt and shorts were soaked. Mrs. McKellan was going to have a ball fussing over her when she got back. The man looked up at her and stuttered out a yes, and Ronan nodded back knowingly. If he worked up at the coal field then he had to have been transferred recently. She guessed he’d been on the island for a year, two years max. Nathan stared confused back up at her as Ronan kept nodding, before she walked towards her bike, and knelt down to pull her balled-up socks out from her canvas shoes. The sand and wet socks wasn’t a welcome sensation, but she’d bear it for the fifteen minute bike ride back to the McKellan’s. As she tied up her laces, she said, “I’m gonna guess you don’t have much experience with the fae and stuff, but you’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re tougher than we look.” She stood up again and brushed the sand from her clothes, or tried to at least, for it clung fast to soaked fabric.
“Oh, no - sorry I didn’t realize - I guess I just thought a fae would be, y’know, more impressive looking? All magic and shit?” Nathan said.
Ronan stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m only half, stupid,” she said, “and selkies don’t glow or anything, so.” She looked pretty normal, all things considered. Crazy, from the wet clothes and mass of brown curls that was starting to frizz out from the saltwater, but she was average height for a twelve year old and her light brown skin, covered with freckles and patches of vitiligo, didn’t stand out as much in comparison to some of the vibrant colors of other half-fae children. She pulled her bike upright and started to push it through the sand. The man clambered after her.
“Wait! That’s not what I meant. It’s just, y’know, this place is pretty unique. I’m not used to it yet.” Nathan looked sheepishly at Ronan, and she stopped. The wind was picking up and her hair ruffled, bringing back the comforting smell of the salt.
“You’re forgetting your shoe,” she said, pointing back to where he had been sitting. He spun around and ran to rescue it from the rising tide, slowly moving closer to where it had been laying. He walked back over to her, still clutching it in his hands with no move to put it back on. They stood on the sandy hill for a moment, and the wind whistled around them. Ronan heard bird calls above them and looked up to see a flock flying in a V-shape away from the darkening clouds. “Do you think you can give me a ride home?” she asked, “it looks like it’s going to rain, and I’m wet enough as it is.”
A small laugh bubbled out of Nathan like a hiccup, and Ronan snickered at his embarrassed expression. He followed her the rest of the way up the hill, his feet sliding a little in the patches of sand between the increasing grass. His car was parked crookedly at the top; he must’ve pulled in as soon as he thought a kid was in trouble. Ronan had to admit, she was a little touched on behalf of all the kids out there. By the time they got her bike into the backseat of his station wagon, it had started to drizzle. The beige interior of his car had a musty smoke smell Ronan imagined as what coal smelled like. The water on her clothes soaked into the car seat, and she started to apologize but Nathan waved it away. She gave him directions to the McKellan’s house, and they drove in silence for a few minutes until Nathan started laughing to himself. Ronan looked over at him with an eyebrow raised, and he coughed to stifle it.
“Sorry, it’s nothing,” he said, “I just realized I’m never gonna get used to this circus of an island.” He looked over at her with an awkward smile, and Ronan grinned back.
“This isn’t even the weirdest thing that could happen to you,” she said.
“Don’t remind me,” he groaned, “what am I going to do when I meet a kid who actually glows?” Ronan laughed. The windshield wipers of the station wagon were moving faster now to keep up with the rain.
“So if you haven’t been on the island that long,” she said, “does that mean you haven’t heard the tale of the One String Bass?” When the man shook his head, Ronan smiled brightly and launched into the story of the GlamStranaughts and their ascended bassist.